


Last Christmas

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, First Kisses, Lots of it, M/M, Mistletoe, Unrequited Love, and alcohol, don't forget the alcohol, happy endings I swear, hunter is a good bro, lincoln is a little shit sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last Christmas, mistletoe required that Jemma Simmons give her heart to a certain biochemist...only to have it thrown away promptly the next day. This year, she's ready to keep herself safe and sound...but can she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwifteForeverAndAlways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwifteForeverAndAlways/gifts).



> My brain won't stop screaming Simmorse.  
> Based off of any rendition of 'Last Christmas', but I was listening to the Taylor Swift version when I thought of this.

“Please, Jemma!”

“Skye, for the last time, no. I went last year, and look what happened then.”

“Yeah, I know,” Skye snorts. “I got drunk, flirted with everyone on the team, and made fifty copies of my ass on the photocopier. I still think Mack tries to Windex it every time he thinks I’m not looking.” She turns puppy-dog eyes on Simmons, knowing it’s the one thing she can’t resist. But apparently she’s wrong - damn, time undercover in HYDRA really changed her if she’s no longer giving in to her puppy-dog eyes - and Simmons doesn’t budge an inch.

“No, Skye. I’m not going to the team Christmas party. And why would I?” she asks chipperly, gesturing to the lab around her. “I’ve got everything festive I need right here!” Skye gazes at the sad-looking wreath that Simmons has only hung up on the wall at the vehement behest of Fitz, the flickering Christmas lights hung up at one station, and what seems to be a poor attempt at arranging chemicals so they resemble some sort of holiday color. 

“Mhm. ‘Cause you’re totally going to celebrate the holidays in this fashion.” She tries again. “Come on, Jem. Just come to the party!” Her voice drops conspiratorially. “Bobbi’s going,” she sing-songs.

Simmons bites back a groan; doesn’t Skye know that that’s the _exact_ reason why she’s not going this year? “I don’t understand why you continue to use Agent Morse as a bargaining point to make me do things,” she says nonchalantly to Skye. “It doesn’t increase the odds of my agreeing to whatever crackpot scheme you’ve cooked up this year.”

“It’s not a crackpot scheme, and for the record, Jem, everyone can see that you’ve got it bad for Bobbi,” Skye points out, and it’s true. Ever since she’d returned from HYDRA, Simmons had been attached at the hip with the one and only Bobbi Morse, much to the amusement of the core team. Though Skye couldn’t deny that she was glad Simmons had found someone to attach to besides Fitz - she wasn’t what he needed right now, and she him. “I just don’t get why you haven’t told her yet.”

“Because,” Simmons sighs, and it’s an exasperated sigh that hints at some past story, one that immediately has Skye sitting herself down on a lab stool, her hands folded primly on the counter. “Things happened last year, Skye. I can’t let them happen again.”

“Things such as?” Skye prods, and Simmons finally looks up from her lab work, sadness and regret tinged onto her face.

“I was drunk,” Simmons admits miserably, shaking her head in defeat. “Awfully drunk...”

________________________________________________

_“Aw, come on, Jem, it’s Christmas!” Fitz pushes another glass of chocolate porter into Simmons’ unwilling hand, grinning. “Let loose a little!” Simmons giggles, perhaps a little too much for someone who’d had three glasses of alcohol._

“Merry Christmas, Fitz,” she exclaimed cheerfully, clinking glasses with him and downing it. “Much better than the Christmas we had last year.” And it was true. Instead of having to deal with silences and worries, the base was filled with laughter, the sound of clinking glasses, and the faint sounds of holiday music. “Have you been caught under the mistletoe yet?”

_There’s a loud roar of laughter, and Fitz and Simmons turn to see Skye and Hunter standing under a sprig of mistletoe, the former looking about as red as an Iron Man suit. Lincoln is pointing at the pair of them, clutching his chest as he nearly doubles over. “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” he and Joey chant, clapping their hands completely off-beat. Skye scowls meanly at Lincoln, shooting him the middle finger._

_“Hate to break it to you, Trainspotting, but you’re the wrong guy,” Skye slurs, pushing Hunter out from under the mistletoe. Hunter barely has time to look offended before she grabs Lincoln by the shirt, dragging him under the mistletoe with her. “Now you’ve got to kiss me, Pikachu.”_

_The entire team whoops and cheers as Lincoln and Skye kiss, only to evolve into good-natured booing as the display gets a little too affectionate. “Get a room, you two!” Bobbi calls, and they both stumble off, leaving the rest of them to laugh. “Alright, who’s next?”_

_“Are they picking out of a hat?” Simmons asks, cold fear dousing her drunken stupor slightly. “Tell me they’re not picking out of a hat.”_

_“I think so,” Fitz squints, his bottle in his hands. “Why, there someone you don’t want to kiss?” His grin is teasing. “Ag-Agent Morse, perhaps?”_

_“Her name is Bobbi,” Simmons corrects him out of habit, then groans when she hears what she’s just said. Fitz bursts into laughter, nearly dropping his beer. “Oh, shut up, Leopold,” she scolds, using his full name as if she’s actually annoyed. “It’s not like you_ don’t _want to kiss Hunter.” Fitz goes silent instantly, and she smirks. “I thought so. I’m going to go get another beer. Want one?”_

_“Why not,” Fitz shrugs, and Simmons hops off of the stool, the sounds of the party blurring around her as she weaves through the mass of people, internally cursing her small height. She keeps the drinks cooler in sight, and is almost there -_

_“Whoa, Jemma!” Lincoln calls, catching her by the shoulders as she’s about to head back to the bar. “I think you’re missing something!” When Simmons’ face shows nothing but_ _puzzlement, he laughs, pointing upwards._

_It’s a sprig of mistletoe._

_Simmons groans. The one thing she’s been hoping to_ not _have to deal with, and it’s somehow come to kick her in the arse. “But there’s no one else under the mistletoe,” she protests feebly, with a sunny smile. “So I can’t technically kiss anyone, can’t I?”_

_“You just have to kiss the next person that comes along,” Skye reassures her tipsily, and Simmons relaxes for a moment before fear seizes her up again. What if it’s May, or Coulson that’s the next person to walk under the mistletoe? What if it’s Fitz, or Joey, or, heaven forbid, Mack? Dread clutches in her chest. What if it’s -_

_“Hunter, I told you, there’s no hip chuck when you do the - oh,” Bobbi’s scowl quickly turns into a grin as she spots Simmons. “Hey, Jem,”_

_“Bobbi,” Simmons squeaks out. “Fancy seeing you here. I mean, not at this party, because, hello, team party, there are only so many of us but I mean under the mistletoe and I really am only here because Fitz made me, not because I -”_

_“Jemma,” Bobbi says, grinning. “If you don’t want to kiss me, just say so.”_

_“ -I mean, you are a bloody attractive woman and anyone’d have to be blind not to see that, and I really do like you, Bobbi, it’s just that - I’m sorry?” Simmons stops babbling once she realizes Bobbi is looking expectantly at her. “Did you say something, Bobbi?”_

_“I was saying how you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to, but -” Bobbi is cut off as Simmons impulsively presses her lips against hers, the younger scientist kissing with an eagerness only found in drunken revelry. It’s a while before both of them pull apart, flushed and panting slightly._

_“Well,” Simmons says matter-of-factly, her eyebrows raised. “I’ll see you in the morning, Bobbi?”_

_Bobbi looks surprised, but rolls with the flow. “I”ll see you in the morning, Jem.” Simmons picks up her bottles of beer and marches back towards the bar, resolutely not looking back at Bobbi._

“Wow,” Skye says as Simmons finishes her story, her head buried in her hands. “That’s...wow, Jem. You fucked up.”

“I know,” Simmons moans. “And that’s not the end of it.” Skye raises an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

____________________________________________

_Her head pounding, Simmons quietly tiptoes down the hallway, trying to focus on getting to the kitchen without waking anyone up. If her own hangover was anything to judge by, Skye and Lincoln’s hangovers would undoubtedly be a lot worse._

_She doesn’t hear the sound of pots and pans moving until it’s too late, and by then, she’s already opening her mouth to tell whoever it is to stop cooking, they’re going to wake up the entire base -_

_“Bob, what the hell are you doing?”_

_“I just need to figure out if it was a fluke.” Simmons’ eyes snap up to see Bobbi and Hunter locked into an embrace, the former kissing the latter with the same intensity she’d seen the night before. Something violent threatens to lurch upwards in Simmons’ stomach, and she quietly stumbles away to the bathroom before she can make her presence known._

_She just won’t tell Bobbi, she figures. After all, they were both drunk, and the likelihood of both of them remembering was very slim. And it wasn’t like Bobbi reciprocated her feelings, anyways. It was one kiss. Under a piece of forgettable mistletoe. Simmons isn’t about to ruin a beautiful friendship over a small, drunken kiss._

_Absolutely not._

“What?” Skye hisses, her hand smacking the table. “You caught Bobbi kissing _Hunter_?”

Simmons nods. It’s not a particularly fond memory. “She doesn’t know I saw her. I just...” She shakes her head adamantly. “I’m not going to the holiday party this year, Skye, alright? I’m not ready to deal with that again.” _I’m not ready to face the possibility of a repeat._

“But you two are so close,” Skye murmurs in confusion. “You sure she doesn’t know you saw her making out with Hunter?”

“Yes,” Simmons hisses. “Bobbi and I are friends - _just_ friends,” she emphasizes when Skye raises an eyebrow. “I’m not about to show up to the party this year and ruin that with my feelings. I can tell you she doesn’t feel the same way. Especially as we’ve gotten closer.”

“Come on, Jem,” Skye wheedles. “You don’t even have to see Bobbi. You can just employ the master avoidance routine! Worked with all my boyfriends! Please?” she asks when Simmons looks doubtful. “I’ll even get Fitz drunk and put him under the mistletoe!”

“With Hunter?”

“ _With_ Hunter,” Skye promises, knowing the mercenary will kill her later; but it’s all to get the Smorse ship sailing. He’s gotta let her have _some_ slack for that. “All you have to do is go.” “Fine.” Simmons grumbles. “But Bobbi gets within ten feet of me, I’m running.”

_________________________________________________

“Jemma,” Coulson says by way of greeting as she walks into the team room, handing her a beer. “Glad you could finally join us.” He exchanges looks with May, and Simmons can tell that they’re having one of their mental conversations. “On second thought, let me take that back.”

“Oi, Director, what’re you doing taking back a beer from this young lady?” Hunter demands, easily scooping Simmons up and away from that potential awkward situation. “No, the only way to get rid of a beer that you don’t want is to hand it t’ someone else, and obviously that person’s going to me.” Simmons laughs - obviously Hunter’s had a few drinks, and doesn’t have plans to stop anytime soon. “Thank you, darling,” The beer is whisked from Simmons’ hands. “C’mon, your Scottish friend’s decided to try ‘n best Mack doing shots. Someone’s got to carry him back, and I’m surely not sober.”

“Hunter, please tell me you didn’t try to take a beer off of May - hey, Jem!” Bobbi’s face brightens considerably when she sees Simmons round the corner with Hunter, and Simmons is sure she’s never seen anyone clear off a seat that fast. “Here, grab a seat - someone’s got to make sure the three idiots don’t get alcohol poisoning,”

Simmons, however, has other plans, and she knows they don’t involve any sort of sitting. In fact, they sort of include maybe running back to hide in the lab before Skye can notice she’s gone. If she’s lucky. “Sorry, Bobbi!” she squeaks, almost immediately turning back in the direction in which she’d come from. “I’ve got, uh, samples in the lab that are positively calling my name, and they’re extremely time-sensitive, so I really must go - perhaps some other time!” she calls, scurrying off to another corner. Once out of sight, Simmons breathes a large sigh of relief, eyeing the cooler of beer in the corner. If things like that kept up, she’d surely need a couple of drinks before the night was over.

________________________________________________

The rest of the night progresses similarly. Simmons would just be beginning to enjoy herself, perhaps with a glass of punch or a snack, ready to hear the latest disaster story Skye, Lincoln or Joey manages to whip up from their latest mission, when Bobbi would appear out of nowhere, wanting to join in. Almost instantly, Simmons would extricate herself from the group, babbling excuse on top of excuse. The rest of the group except for Skye looks at her weirdly, but doesn’t question her sudden departure.

It works fine - except Simmons can _swear_ she sees hurt flash across Bobbi’s face during her latest escape, and it’s so tempting to stop and explain, to right this - but Jemma Simmons was never good at emotional confrontations, and she’s certainly not about to start now with one of her closest friends. Who she _might_ want to be more than friends with.

She’s managed to calm herself down in the bathroom, splashing water onto her face to calm her reddened cheeks (she _knew_ she shouldn’t have stuck around to play Cards Against Humanity with Skye, that was destined to be embarrassing on its own,) after her latest escape. “You’re almost through the night,” she whispers herself, making a meditation hand motion. “Just get through the night, and you’ll be fine.”

But of course, everything is _not_ fine when she opens the stall door to find Bobbi standing there, looking confused, hurt, and slightly angry. “Agent Morse!” she blurts out, because it’s honestly so reminiscent of their encounter during her short time in HYDRA that whatever Bobbi’s taught her since then has long gone out the window.

“It’s Bobbi,” her friend reminds her in a clipped tone that nearly disguises the tears she’s holding back. “You’ve been avoiding me, Jemma.”

“I-I-I have?” Simmons stutters, edging away from Bobbi’s piercing stare and over to the sinks. She focuses hard on turning on the taps, washing her hands - anything that will distract her from the fact that Bobbi is most likely very disappointed in her. “Surely you’ve got it wrong,” she protests as she runs out of actions, forcing herself to look back up at Bobbi once more. “Wh-why on _earth_ would I be avoiding you?”

“I don’t know, Jemma, why don’t you ask yourself that?” Bobbi’s arms are crossed, and she towers over Simmons in a way that isn’t _completely_ unwelcome. But Simmons isn’t going to let her thoughts go there just yet. Not when there’s a more pressing matter at stake. “I come over to play Cards Against Humanity, and you just up and at ‘em. Just like that.”

“I-I-” Simmons can barely get the words out, she’s so nervous. “Well, you see, here’s the thing -” She fidgets nervously with her hands. Bobbi takes Simmons’ chin in her hand, tilting her head up.

“I’m not mad, Jem,” she says quietly. “I just want to know why.”

Simmons is forced to look up into her eyes then, and feels her own eyes fill with tears as she spots the tiny, green plant hanging above their heads. “Bloody hell, they’re even in the bathrooms.”

“What--” As soon as Bobbi looks upwards, Simmons darts out from under her touch, scurrying towards the door, wrenching it open, and running as fast as she can towards her bunk. She’ll be safe there, she figures. No one can come after her, not unless they’re smart enough to override the biometric lock, something she’s only let Fitz do and Skye’s hacked -

_Or_ , Jemma realizes belatedly, _if someone pursuing you has a good seven inches on you and legs a mile long_. She barely hides the squeak of surprise that squishes out of her mouth when she hears Bobbi’s hand catch in the door, diving under her blankets so as not to be seen. “Jemma, I know you’re in there.” Simmons stays silent. Maybe if she doesn’t say anything, Bobbi will think she isn’t there and move on back out to the party and -

“ _Jemma_.”

Okay, so _maybe_ she’s figured it out.

“Jemma.” This time, Bobbi’s stepped in, the mattress dipping as she sits down next to the huddled mass that is Simmons, placing a hand on her back. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I saw you two.” So maybe that’s not the best way to start things, Simmons muses, but at least it’s a starting point. Better that than nothing.

Bobbi’s nose scrunches up in confusion, and Simmons can see it so clearly in her mind’s eye - it’s adorable - that she has to fight back another wave of sadness, the crushing knowledge that Bobbi will never be hers. “What?”

“The day after the Christmas party last year,” Simmons answers, her voice beginning to shake more with her admission. “I saw you - you and Hunter - and I just thought - and when I saw the bloody plant, I just -” She shakes her head, unable to say more.

Bobbi’s face falls: she remembers exactly what Simmons is talking about. It was the last time she’d kissed Hunter, trying to prove to herself (and maybe to some general, judgemental higher power) that the night before had been a fluke, that there was _no way_ she was in love with tiny little Jemma Simmons because hell, she and Fitz were a thing and she couldn’t infringe on that, and even so, there was no way someone as amazing as Simmons loved her back -

_“Bob, what the hell are you doing?” Hunter pushes Bobbi away soundly, confusion on his face. “We were done with this a long time ago, remember? You ended it. You ended us.” He doesn’t look the slightest bit bitter, just completely confused._

_“I’m sorry,” Bobbi murmurs, her hand fanning over her face. And she is. “I just had to...I just had to check.”_

_“Check for what? That your face wasn’t numb or something? Christ, Bob,” Hunter whispers, concern etched on his face. “What’s going on with you?”_

_“I...I kissed Jemma last night,” Bobbi admits mournfully, and Hunter’s mouth drops open in shock. “I was drunk, there was mistletoe, and she was rambling about how I was attractive...I fucked up, Hunter,” she whispers. “I had to check it was a fluke. I can’t be attracted to her.”_

_“And why bloody well not?” Hunter asks. “This isn’t church, Bob. No one’s going to judge you.”_

_There’s fresh pain in Bobbi’s eyes, and suddenly he understands. “Right. Fitz.”_

_“She loves him. I’m not about to get in the middle of that.”_

_“And is it...was it a fluke?” Hunter asks concernedly. “Have you suddenly found out that you’re wildly attracted to men?”_

_Bobbi shakes her head. “Nope. Still got it bad.”_

“Bobbi.” Fresh tears are leaking out of Simmons’ eyes, and she shakes her head in denial, refusing to believe it. “I’m not - you can’t -” _Love me,_ she finishes in her head. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“But I do?” Bobbi phrases the question softly, finally gathering enough strength to draw the blankets back. Simmons’ eyes are rimmed red, and there are tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. Timidly, Bobbi reaches to wipe a tear away. “I’m in love with you, Jemma Simmons. And if you’ll have me, I promise to never make you cry again.”

“I think I can do that,” Smiling slightly, Bobbi leans in to kiss Simmons.

This time, when they pull apart, there’s no regret, no room to lay blame to mistletoe. The next morning, when Simmons wakes up in Bobbi’s arms, she’s delighted at the lack of hangover - _it’s finally real._

**Author's Note:**

> If you loved it, leave me a comment! :)


End file.
